Chapter Three
The next morning, Lizzy, with Harry at her side, rambled along the paths of the home wood.
Harry carried a respectable-sized stick in his mouth.
Occasionally, he would whine and Lizzy would take the stick away and toss it sideways into the trees.
She wore one of her capacious aprons, another serviceable gown—green this time—her tramping boots, a green and blue tartan spencer, and a straw bonnet held on by a matching tartan riband.
She carried a canvas sack, half-full of debris gathered from the forest floor.
With her head down, Lizzy searched the ground on either side of her for dry fallen leaves and twigs.
“What have you there, Miss Elizabeth?” a man asked.
Lizzy started and looked ahead. She spied Mr. Darcy walking along with Conny, a stout, short-legged dog at his heels.
The dog recognized her and chuffed a greeting.
Mr. Darcy bowed his head, and Lizzy curtsied slightly.
“Good morning, sir.” Holding up her sack, she added, “I am gathering what dry debris I can find for Jeffry’s enclosure.
It seems a bit of straw is not sufficient to keep him happy. ”
“How can you tell whether or not he is happy?” Mr. Darcy asked, approaching until they were only a few feet apart.
Goodness, he is close. And more handsome than I remember. Is it right that a man should be so fine-looking? Is it fair to us ladies?
Clearing her throat first, Lizzy backed up a step and formed her answer.
“I keep finding Jeffry where he does not belong.
Yesterday afternoon, for example, I found him in the middle of my bed, asleep as though he were a cat.
I naturally returned him to the orangery where he belongs since Harry is the only animal that sleeps in my room.
“I have some tunnels formed from clay pipes—the squarish ones. When I put Jeffry back in his enclosure, I set a tunnel amongst some straw, and he seemed to like that. Hiding in it makes him feel safer, I think. I thought he might stay put if I gathered some different types of bedding material.”
“No doubt you are right,” Mr. Darcy said, smiling.
His smile did something funny to Lizzy’s stomach. To hide her reaction, she crouched and scratched Conny’s white and tan crown.
The underbrush rattled, presaging Harry’s arrival. He came bounding out of the trees and onto the wide path. Spying Mr. Darcy, he dropped his stick and barked twice. Lizzy straightened and patted her thigh. Harry came to heel.
“Hello to you, too, Harry,” Mr. Darcy said. He waved his gloved hand at the long-eared Conny that had been trudging along beside him. “Do you know this lady, Harry? Miss Elizabeth?”
Harry approached the other dog, and they performed the appropriate amount of sniffing to fulfill the proper canine greeting etiquette.
“Her name is Conny,” Lizzy informed Mr. Darcy. “She must like you very much. She is indolent and would rather sit on her family’s front stoop in order to watch the world go by than take a walk.”
“I might feel the same if my legs were as short as hers. I did nothing to attract her, I assure you. I simply walked past a handsome cottage without saying a word of greeting, and she came trotting after me.”
“Trotting?” Lizzy laughed. “I did not know you could trot, Conny dear. Well done.”
“May we turn aside and keep you company, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, reaching out to take her bundle of debris as though her answer was a certainty.
Harry used this opportunity to retrieve his stick. Conny trundled along after Harry, who led her into the trees.
“Hmm, and there they go. Certainly, you may carry my burden, Mr. Darcy.” Lizzy presented the sack to him. “My father told me he had given leave to Mr. Bingley and his guests to walk in our home wood, since Netherfield has none. Is Mr. Bingley joining you today?”
“He still slept when I left,” Mr. Darcy revealed, taking the sack and offering her his arm. Lizzy took it, and they began strolling. “I borrowed his gig and parked it at the Longbourn Inn, where I obtained directions.”
“Ah,” Lizzy said, nodding and wondering what to talk about next.
They seemed to have exhausted the subject of how he came to be walking on the Bennet estate, and of Mr. Darcy’s temporary companion.
I could ask him about his home, I suppose.
Or about his family? Mr. Darcy’s stomach grumbled, causing her to chuckle.
“Did you come out without eating anything, sir?”
He laughed once. “I did.”
“I can help you with that,” Lizzy promised. She took her hand out of his arm and put it in the top pocket of her apron, pulling out a packet wrapped in brown paper. “You may have my rambling bar.” She offered it to him.
Darcy hesitantly took the package. “Your what?”
“It is a rambling bar—at least that is what Cook calls them,” she explained. “I had two, and ate one. You may have this last one.”
He put down the sack and opened the package on his flat palm. After scrutinizing the rectangular bar, Mr. Darcy asked, “What is in it?”
“Oh, seeds, nuts, dried fruits, oats, flour, bound together with honey, butter, and so forth,” Miss Elizabeth told him. “She mixes it up and then bakes it to cook the oats and flour. ‘Nobody wants t’eat uncooked oats or flour, miss,’ she informed me. I heartily agreed.”
“Except horses,” Darcy said automatically. “They eat oats.”
“Except horses,” she repeated, chuckling a little. “And cattle, sheep, pigs, and goats. Other animals will eat oats as well.”
“Is the bar tasty?”
“It is, I promise you.” She gestured toward his mouth. “Go ahead. It is not poison. Cook is an excellent chef and baker.”
Darcy’s stomach complained again. He took a bite. In spite of it being firm, it had a sweet, chewy texture. “Mmm.”
“I will tell Cook you liked the bar,” she told him. “Come this way.”
Miss Elizabeth began walking again, and indicated they should move onto a narrower path, though it remained wide enough for them to walk side-by-side.
“I will tell you something for nothing. Cook is writing a cookery book. She is exceedingly scientific in her approach as her father used to be an apothecary’s assistant.
When he retired, he gave her his set of scales and measuring tools. ”
“Does she mean to publish her book?” Darcy asked between bites. His own chef had a huge book full of his recipes and tips, but Darcy doubted he would share it with anyone.
“She does. The biggest problem, she says, is that every housewife does not have a set of scales, or the same type of measuring tools she uses. Cups are different sizes, you see. And even spoons come in all sorts of sizes.”
They soon came to a narrow stream that had a single stepping stone in the middle to bridge its gurgling path. Miss Elizabeth stopped beside it. She whistled and Darcy heard a single bark and a single howl.
“One whistle means they must sound off so I know where Harry is—and Conny, too. Look what I have here,” Miss Elizabeth said, digging in her pockets.
“You will want a drink of water now—I always do—and I have a cup.” Frowning, she pulled forth a bundle of fur.
“Jeffry? What are you doing here? Do you see what I mean, Mr. Darcy?”
“Perhaps his owner is a gypsy traveler,” he suggested.
“You may be right. If that is the case, Jeffry may become my permanent guest.” She tucked him into the crook of one arm and dug into the same pocket once more. “Ah, here it is.”
The guinea pig went back into her pocket.
She displayed a round silver box similar to some snuff boxes.
She pulled the top off completely and revealed a recessed silver object.
She dumped it onto her palm, put the box into a pocket, and proceeded to poke the bottom of the disk until the form of a cup appeared.
“Have you seen one of these before? It is the same collapsible cup my father had as part of his toiletries when he went on the Grand Tour.”
“I have. My father had something similar, though his fit in a leather holder.”
Miss Elizabeth passed the cup to him.
“This water is clean,” she told him. “The spring is not twenty yards away.”
Darcy set the bundle of debris on the ground, and crouched beside the stream to fill the cup. He stood and offered the cup to her first.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it and swallowing a gulp of water before handing it back to him.
“This is extremely convenient,” Darcy admitted.
He drank down the remaining water, refilled it, and drank some more.
He filled it one more time and offered it again to Miss Elizabeth.
She accepted it and drank it dry. “Not quite as useful as a water flask, but perfect for rambling in an area where you know you can find clean water.”
“I agree completely,” she murmured. “Perhaps you can find your father’s cup.”
Miss Elizabeth is a remarkably sensible woman…though a little odd. He ignored how his heart raced a little when he considered her, thinking himself foolish to admire a woman who traipsed all over sundry with little animals in her pockets.
Darcy took the cup back from her and dried it with his handkerchief before collapsing the cup, and handing it to her. He pointed at the cup as she put it back in its box. “That gives me an idea that might help your cook. Would you care to hear it?”
“Certainly, I would.”
Miss Elizabeth gave him such an engaging look that he almost forgot his idea. Blinking a few times first, he managed to order his tumbled thoughts. “I wonder if a tin cup, of the appropriate size, could be sold along with the book? Or, it could be given away with the purchase of the book?”
“Mr. Darcy!” she gasped, taking a step away and opening her eyes so wide he could see the whites surrounding her dark-brown irises.
“What is it?” he asked, blinking.